


Ghosts 'n' Stuff

by whereareyoucas



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy, Established Relationship, Haunted Houses, Homophobic Language, I ain't afraid of no ghosts, M/M, Spooky, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereareyoucas/pseuds/whereareyoucas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey and Ian have the keys to a mansion for the weekend, so obviously plan to utilise it (if you know what I mean, wink wink). It kinda sucks that it's haunted though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first work for the fandom so feedback is appreciated :)) And thank you for clicking and reading and yep
> 
> I guess I should also thank Not_Of_Import for getting me to read her (awesome) Gallavich fics before I'd even watched the show ha

Savouring the dwindling warmth from his cigarette, Mickey walked down the unfamiliar road. He had been under the mistaken impression that he knew every street there was to know in the south side, perks of having worked for half the people living there, and having victimised the other half. So he was surprised that there was a street his thug-work hadn’t brought him down, especially seeing as there was a friggin’ mansion at the end of it. And that was about it. The rest of the street was taken up by a building site, a lot of empty space and empty decrepit detached houses. The mansion at the end didn’t look much better. Maybe that was why it hadn’t been picked up on his family’s radar as a target yet- because they thought nobody was there.

But apparently, someone was. The day before, a creepy looking old guy creaked into the shop. The way he went straight to Ian without buying anything made Mickey think it was someone Ian had met at the club, and stalked him back to his day job. Or maybe Ian had actually asked the guy to meet him here, to arrange details for the next time they’d hook up (Mickey shuddered at the thought of Ian going at it with this guy. He looked like he’d cum dust. If this was someone Ian was hooking up with, his standards had got even weirder.) Either way, Mickey’s interest had been piqued, and he made his way up to the counter nonchalantly so that he could monitor the conversation.

The uncomfortable manner in which Ian was looking at the old guy made Mickey think it was a stalker, and he was ready to start shoving the creep out the shop.  Not because he was a protective boyfriend, fuck that sissy shit, he had the duty to bash gay, almost-paedophilic stalkers- a duty to his neighbourhood. But Mickey stopped advancing when he saw the man handing a key  and some money to Ian.

Ian took the key and money with a confused countenance, that remained even as the man fled out of the shop, pretty nimble for such an ancient person.

“The fuck was that about?” Mickey asked, leaning against the counter and watching Ian.

“I’m not sure.”

Mickey waited with brows raised expectantly.

“I think I just got a house sitting job.”

“What?”

“He’s going on holiday for a couple days, and he needs someone to feed his cats and fish, and he’ll give me the other half of my pay when he gets back.”

“Do you know him?” Mickey asked, mystery solved so fiddling with the gum display distractedly.

“No.”

Mickey looked up at this. Who the fuck would be dumb enough to trust a random person to do their housesitting?

“How much money’s that?” Mickey asked.

Ian quickly fingered through the notes, eyebrows raising higher and higher.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars!” he said almost incredulously. So that’s why the guy could trust a random stranger. Any sane person would feed a cat and a fish for the promise of five hundred dollars total. Unless of course, the furniture was going to be worth much more.

“So, what are you doing tomorrow night?” Ian asked decisively, a smile hinting at his lips.

“Nothing. You want my brothers to bring the van?”

Ian shot a look at him. “No, I’m not gonna jack anything.”

“Why the hell not?” Mickey asked genuinely.

Ian only shrugged in reply.

There was a few seconds of consideration.  
“Why’d you want me there then?”

Ian rolled his eyes skillfully.

“Oh.” While Ian had mastered the sarcastic eye-roll, Mickey had got the lewd grin down to a tee.

So that was how Mickey ended up, walking down Meurer Road in the fading light of a November evening, with a rucksack on his back and a smile behind his lips. The pair had decided to stay the night there.

He got to the mansion- it was probably the biggest house he’d ever seen and he wondered who the fuck was stupid and rich enough to build a mansion here of all places- and walked unsurely up to the door. He knocked on it first, but when there was no answer, he tried the handle and it was unlocked. He stepped inside, and looked around. Ian was nowhere to be seen. Weird because Ian said he’d be there from six, and it was nearing half seven now. Nonetheless, Mickey shuffled into the room, to have a look round. Just after he dropped his half full rucksack to the floor, the front door banged shut, making Mickey turn his head quickly. He eyed the door for a moment and then-

“BOO.”

Mickey, nerves already on edge, actually jumped and raised his fists. Ian had slapped his hands loudly onto Mickey’s shoulders while his back had been turned, and the only reason Ian didn’t get a black eye for that was because Mickey had awesome reflexes.

“Fuck you man,” Mickey said over the sound of Ian laughing. He was going to have to get him back for that..

“Sorry.” Ian’s smug grin didn’t look very sorry. “This place is pretty creepy though- I checked it out and most doors are locked, and there’s barely any furniture in the rooms that aren’t. Plus, I think his fish died.”

“What, you kill it already? Shit Gallagher, you ain’t even been here a whole day.”

“No, I think it died a while ago… it’s all melty and shit.”

Mickey pulled a face of disgust. He did not want to see dead melty goldfish. “This guy’s gotta be half a pickle short. What about the cat?”

Ian shook his head grimly. “Haven’t seen it. But I did hear a scratching sound from one of the locked rooms, I think he might’ve locked it in.”

“You gotta save it man, you can’t kill both his pets,” Mickey said.

“I didn’t kill the fish!” Ian argued. When Mickey grinned, Ian rolled his eyes again, but in resignation. “Fine, we’ll save the cat, but then I’m gonna give you a tour of the place. The bedroom is to die for,” Ian said, putting on a posh voice.

Ian made his way out of the room, with Mickey on his tail. As they walked through a mini-labyrinth of empty, cold rooms, Ian glanced back at Mickey biting his lip.

“There’s only one bed- but it’s a big one. That alright with you?”

“Yep,” Mickey replied easily, slightly surprising Ian. He surprised himself too. But really, he wasn’t going to make one of them have to sleep in another room, or even on the floor. It was creepy enough sleeping there already. Not that Mickey was scared. Anyway- sleeping in the same bed meant morning blow jobs, right?

“I think the scratching was from this door,” Ian said, stopping in front of a wooden door, that looked the same as every other wooden door in the house.

The two of them stayed silent, listening for any sound. Finally, they heard a small scratching.

Mickey nodded approval to Ian, and Ian appraised the door. He decided the wood would be old enough for him to just have to kick off the handle, so Mickey stood back as he did. It came off after the fourth kick, and Ian slowly opened the door.

“Oh that’s nasty,” Mickey said, stepping back even farther. A few rats had scurried out of the room, along with a horrible decaying odour. Ian stepped back too, covering his nose.

“Think your cat’s in there?” Mickey asked.

Ian looked at him with wide eyes that said ‘God I hope not’.

The boys tried to nudge each other forward, because one of them had to check for it before shutting the door, but of course, neither of them wanted to. Finally Mickey gave in, and went forward cautiously. Before he peeked his head round the door, nose firmly covered by his hoodie sleeve, he had a vision that he’d find a dead human body in there. The thought sent a shiver through him, making it even more difficult to look. But he did. And for a heart stopping second, he saw the decaying human body he thought he would, but then realised there was nothing there. Only his imagination. The only thing in the room was rat droppings and mould.

Thankfully, he pulled the door shut and shook his head at Ian.

“Fuck, I broke that door for nothing.”

Mickey shrugged in reply. As they stood there, the door creaked open again, as if taunting them with its lack of a handle. They decided to leave the room, and keep an ear out for any sign of the missing cat.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark by now. Mickey stood at the window, eyes fixed to the sky, cigarette dangling from his hand. It was a shit sky: no stars to be seen and only like five eighths of the moon. That was the worst size moon you could get in Mickey’s opinion. His internal criticisms of the moon were interrupted by a loud clicking noise behind him.

Ian had tried to flip the light switch, but nothing was happening. He switched it up and down a few times, until giving up, glaring uselessly at the dirty mini-chandelier. He strode to the next room and tried the switch: the same result. He even tried the next room, but still, no light.

“He must’ve switched the electricity off,” Ian concluded, wandering back into the room Mickey was stood in.

“Dick. That means we got no TV,” Mickey grumbled, stumping his cigarette out on the windowsill.

“We didn’t come here to watch TV.”

The slight command in Ian’s voice made Mickey turn round from the window again, eyebrows raised. Ian’s face broke out into a grin, and then he bent down to rummage for something in the bag he had brought with him.

Mickey smirked, then dragged his eyes back to the sky, away from Ian’s ass. He could see some birds circling up there, silhouetted against the murky navy. Idiots, aren’t birds supposed to only fly in the day time? It took Mickey a few seconds to realise they were actually bats.

“Aha.”

Ian’s voice made Mickey turn once more, and he was rewarded with a strong beam of light shining into his eyes.

“Get that the fuck outta my eyes,” Mickey complained, waving his arms around as if he could bat the beam away.

“Ha. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour,” Ian announced, making his way to the staircase.

“Lead the way, Gallagher.”

They went up one staircase, looked in some rooms filled with bookcases, some filled with covered furniture and some with nothing in them but heavy stale air. It seemed to go on forever. They found a ladder that lead into a big room with a fireplace, and two more staircases. Somehow, they found themselves back into the room that lead to the room that had been filled with rats.

“Umm, so yeah, that’s the grand tour.”  
“You had no idea where you were going that whole time, don’t try to lie.”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know man, it’s creepy, it’s like the rooms have rearranged themselves since I last went up.”

The broken door chose then to creak open loudly, making the red-head jump.

“Scared, Gallagher?” Mickey teased, partly to make himself feel less creeped out.

“No, but-” a few rats filed out of the door. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’ll leave some food out for the cat, and we can leave.”

“Aw come on, don’t be such a pussy. What are you scared of?”

Ian gave him a withering look, but it was ruined when his eyes darted nervously over Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey looked round. Nothing was there. Obviously.

“You scared of ghosts?” Mickey asked, looking back at Ian and grabbing the torch to angle it under his face.

Ian sighed, and tried not to smile, which made it easier for Mickey to smile. Maybe some laughter would lighten the mood.

“There any ghosties in here?” Mickey shouted, swinging the torch round the room. He stomped loudly to the doorway to sweep the next room with the light. “Ay, ghosts, wanna piece of me?”

Ian was now out of sight from Mickey, but he could hear him sniggering, which encouraged him.

“Yeah, that’s right, you couldn’t handle Mickey Milk-SHIT.”

“Mickey!? You alright?” Ian cried out, getting into the room as fast as he could.

“Shit. Yeah I’m alright, but your torch just fucking exploded on me,” Mickey replied, sucking his burnt finger. Ian sighed, with relief and aggravation.

“S’probably Carl fiddling with it. I don’t have another one, shit.”

The two boys stood in dark silent contemplation for a moment.

“Whatever, let’s go home,” Mickey conceded. Ian didn’t argue.

They stumbled their way to the front door in the Cimmerian blackness. The shitty moon had been covered by a cloud now, leaving no light at all. This just vexed Mickey further.

Ian tried the door. It didn’t budge. He tried it a few times, then gave up, making way for Mickey to try. Mickey tried. Even when leaning his whole weight on the handle, it still wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Mickey asked the dark space behind him, panic edging its way into his voice. Ian’s hand found his arm, and gripped onto it. Under other circumstances, Mickey probably would’ve shaken him off, but he was not going to do that now.

“I dunno,” Ian’s voice wavered slightly. They fretted for a few seconds before Ian burst out laughing. A few seconds later, Mickey joined in.

“I actually- for a second- was scared ghosts had locked us in,” Ian choked out between cackles.

“Ghosts don’t even fucking exist,” Mickey hooted.

The sound of their laughter slowly died down, and they didn’t feel so creeped out anymore. Mickey had been right, laughter would solve it.

“God, we’re so stupid. It’s an old house, it probably just has a weird locking mechanism,” Ian suggested.

“Yeah.”

Ian slid his phone out his jeans and squinted at it. He held it up in the air for a second, momentarily lighting up his face, before closing it and putting it back in his pocket.

“Piece of shit, doesn’t have any bars. Never has any bars.”

“Let’s just do what we came here to do man,” Mickey said. He heard Ian smile.

“Okay. I think I saw some candles in the other room, come on.”

After a bit more stumbling about, they finally found a few chunky candles. Mickey held his lighter to them, and finally, there was light. It felt good to be able to see each other again.

“So, bedroom?” Ian proposed, raising his eyebrows at Mickey over the flickering orange light. “Finally,” Mickey replied. Although he was relieved to have a bit of light back, the candles weren’t very reassuring. The light of them didn’t even reach the corners of the rooms, and the moving edge of it kept bothering Mickey’s peripheral. Sometimes the flickering looked like it could be an army of spiders converging on them from all sides, and so every few seconds Mickey had to stop himself from checking. He knew there was no army of fucking spiders. He just wished his brain would stop thinking it.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re locked in,” Ian was assuring him and himself as they went up the staircase which seemed to be rasping underneath their combined weight. “We can kick the door down. Or, if we’re not back by midday, Lip’ll probably come looking for me ‘coz I said I’d help him with his thing. I think he knows where we are, he-” Ian was babbling, slightly nervously. Mickey told him so.

“Sorry. I’m trying not to be creeped out,” Ian insisted.

“You don’t need to worry about shit Gallager, I got my gun on me. I can shoot the door down if I need to,” Mickey said, fingers skimming over the hard shape in the back pocket of his bag.

Ian’s face told him he didn’t know if that reassured him or worried him even more. But it reassured Mickey. Not that he needed to be reassured.

Something that assured both of them though, was the sight of the bedroom. This time they had found it immediately.

Unlike all the other rooms in the house, this one looked almost warm. The four poster bed was covered in emerald and grey sheets, and cushions and soft curtains draped around the head. This was going to be some fancy ass fucking.

It only took them a few minutes of heated kissing and soft touching to completely take their minds off being slightly freaked out. Hormones, god damn it.


	3. Chapter 3

Their kisses became more and more heated, until Mickey tacitly turned away, so that he was bent over onto the headboard, which was the perfect height for what they had in mind. Mickey twisted his head over his shoulder so Ian could continue to kiss him hotly, breath tickling him and making Mickey shiver slightly. He listened to Ian pop the cap on the lube, and then the wet sound of him applying it to his fingers. However many times they did this, it still thrilled Mickey. The knowledge that this act belonged only to Ian and him, that he wouldn’t let anyone else do this for him, to him. By the time Ian had his finger up to the knuckle in Mickey, his dick was straining to attention. Ian slowed down for a second.

Mickey twisted his neck round again to glance at Ian and tell him to hurry the fuck up, he’s not a blushing virgin, but the speech died in his throat. Just like before, downstairs when he thought he’d seen a dead body in the rat room, he could see rotting flesh where Ian had just been. A gaping hole with black teeth, and skin hanging off the bones like the curled, brown leaves autumn left behind. Mickey turned away, breathing heavily, too stunned to start panicking yet.

“Mick?”

Ian’s free hand turned Mickey’s face softly back to him.

“Mick, are you ok? Shall I stop?”

Mickey stared at Ian for a few seconds. He was normal Ian. Of course he was normal Ian, Mickey’s imagination was playing fucked up tricks on him, just like they had downstairs. Someone had told him once that fear and sex hormones came from the same place in the brain, and can get muddled up sometimes. Although, he thinks a convicted rapist in juvie probably told him that, it made him feel slightly better. Seeing as his dick was still bobbing against his stomach, he was still ok for Ian to fuck him, and so told him so. He was just still a bit creeped out by the house, that was all.

He kept his eyes on Ian this time, as Ian slipped another finger in. Mickey moaned and closed his eyes for a second, savouring the sensation. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Ian smiling smugly at him. And behind Ian, in the doorway was a preteen with a scowl. When the preteen saw Mickey had seen him, he ran out of sight.

“Stop,” Mickey ordered Ian, barely waiting for Ian to take his hand away before getting up and struggling to do his pants up. Fear and sex was one thing, but this wasn’t some crazed hallucination. It all clicked into place in Mickey’s head quickly, as he explained to Ian.

“Some fucking guy knew we were here and’s fucking locked us in here and is fucking with us,” the cuss’ spilled out of Mickey’s mouth as he marched towards the door. “Wait here, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“But there was nobody there,” Ian bleated, but Mickey had already gone.

He huffed and resigned to just wait for Mickey to come back. He would be annoyed that Mickey had left him here with blue balls, but he knew how much Mickey valued his privacy. And although he was sure no one had been behind him, he didn’t blame Mickey for checking: he could still sense the creepy atmosphere of the house, even in this cosy bedroom. So he would wait for Mickey to finish chasing his ghosts.

He made himself feel comfortable, leaning against the headboard and started twiddling his thumbs absently. Then he had a sinking feeling.

 

Literally.

 

Ian was sinking into the bed.

 

He yelped as everything went dark.

*-*-*

 

Mickey had ran out of the room, and then thundered down the stairs. He quickly scanned the nearest few rooms, but realised he’d lost the kid.

“Ay, come out you little shit head,” Mickey yelled at the oppressive darkness.

He stood quietly for a second, but got unnerved by the silence so started shouting again, and stomping his feet as he walked slowly through the rooms.

“I know you locked us in here motherfucker, and trust me, you won’t be able to hide from me forever. I know your face now. Better come out now before I can get my brothers involved in taking you out, kid.”

Still nothing, and now Mickey was wandering into rooms he didn’t recognise. “And don’t think I wouldn’t go so low as to get a hit on a kid. I think kids are annoying as fuuuuuuuck!” He roared the last word, emotionally exerted. He was possibly slightly lost, in total darkness because he hadn’t gone through enough fucking thought processes to take a candle with him, and he’d left Ian alone upstairs. And for what? He didn’t expect to find the kid now.

“I know your face now,” Mickey muttered to himself. But now he was thinking about it… did he? He tried to picture it. A pale scrawny face behind Ian’s shoulder. Blonde hair? Brown? The more he thought about it, the fuzzier the kid got in his mind.

“Fucks sake,” Mickey conceded that it was more of his mind playing tricks on him. He started stumbling through the rooms quicker now, trying to find the staircase again. He wanted to get back to Ian. He would feel more himself with Ian than alone in the cavernous dark. And so help him, God, they were going to survive this night if it killed them. Mickey belatedly realised he was holding his gun in his hand.

He didn’t remember taking it out of his pocket, nor loading it. Had he really been ready to shoot a figment? He sheathed his gun back into his pocket.

After one tense minute, Mickey found the staircase. Or at least, he thought it was the staircase. It looked exactly like the staircase, and the front door was facing it, but he inexplicably felt like it was in the wrong place. He shook his head physically to try get rid of these useless thoughts. He’d just lost his sense of navigation going through the labyrinth of rooms.

He climbed the stairs, and found the bedroom. Or he thought it was the bedroom. Maybe.

He stepped in, door creaking spectacularly, and saw the bed was empty.

He was about to leave and call for Ian down the corridor when he heard a muffled sniff.

Only now, he noticed Ian sobbing in the corner.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ian?” Mickey was stuck in the doorway. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he’d ever voluntarily went toward a crying person. It wasn’t his thing to rub someone’s back as they soaked his shoulder with tears. The thought of it actually freaked him out a bit. The closest he got to comforting people, was leaving the room with a gun and a promise of vengeance.

But this was Ian.

He looked so small in the corner, hunched over and vulnerable. He wasn’t acknowledging Mickey.

After just a few more seconds of nervous lip-biting indecision, Mickey slowly approached the other man, as carefully as one might approach a crack fox. The tattooed man got close enough to crouch down and rest his hand on Ian’s ducked head. He stilled at the contact.

“Ian, come on. Don’t cry.” Please be ok. “What’s wrong? If this is about me chasing after the kid, I-”

Mickey was cut off when Ian grabbed his outstretched arm and slammed it hard and fast into the wall. He finally looked up at Mickey with glazed pale eyes, and an ominous tenseness in his jaw.

“For once, it’s not fucking about you Mickey,” Ian said menacingly quiet.

“Ow, fine, I’m sorry, what’s wrong with you then?” Mickey replied quickly, struggling to get back control of his arm, but Ian wasn’t giving in.

“You left! Why did you leave? You’re always ready to abandon me to go chasing something else, some guy to beat on, some fascist to impress,” Ian cried, smashing Mickey’s wrist into the wall to emphasise what he was saying.

“Ow, fuck Gallagher, that hurts. I thought you just said this wasn’t about me, huh?” He would be more worried about the shooting pains Ian was causing up and down his arm, except for the fact that Ian looked half crazed. Could this be a mental breakdown? Panic attack? Maybe Ian had even taken some acid. Except it wouldn’t make sense. Ian’s been completely fine for the past month at least, no extreme highs, no extreme lows, and no drugs.

“Ian, tell me what’s wrong,” Mickey almost pleaded.

Giving one final, bone-crunching squeeze to Mickey’s wrist, leaving his inked fingers numb, Ian let go of Mickey and hunched back in on himself, beginning to sob again.

“Fuck, Ian let me help you,” Mickey’s voice broke. He didn’t think he was dealing with this very well. Anyone else would know what to do, but Mickey was a dumb, emotionally stunted dick head and was at a loss. He made a few false starts, trying to say something, to help, but no full words came out.

“I’m scared,” Ian finally breathed. Mickey relaxed a little. This gave him a goal: something to fix.

“Fine, we’ll get out of here, we’ll break down the door, come on.”

“No, I’m not scared of what’s in here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to us. Today, tomorrow, next week. What’s gonna be us in a years time Mickey? Are we gonna be going steady? Finishing school? Or will we not be on speaking terms, will-”

“Ian, stop.” Mickey cut off Ian’s speech, and rubbed his eyes. “Why the fuck do you want to talk about our relationship now? I thought we just fucking came here to fuck?” He was losing his patience now. He loved Ian, but this was fucking mental.

“If I can’t talk to you, I can’t live, Mickey. I’d have to kill myself,” Ian ended on a whisper.

“For fucks sake, what are you fucking saying?” Ian looked up again, and Mickey moved just in time to dodge a punch. “The fuck has gotten into you? Are you high?” Mickey had reached the limit of his sensitivity. The pain in his arm was getting harder to ignore, and he wasn’t getting anywhere with Ian. He just seemed to be making it worse.

“You’re a fucking pussy, Mickey Milkovich,” Ian spat, looking up at him.

“The fuck you say Gallagher?”

“You’re a fucking PUSSY.”

“Shut up.” Mickey stood up and turned his back to Ian.

“Look at me, Mickey.”

After a few seconds, Mickey obeyed.

“You’re a good for nothing coward.”

Mickey resisted the urge to scream, kicked the wall next to Ian hard, causing Ian to flinch, and then stormed out of the room breathing heavily.

Outside in the hallway, Mickey kicked the shit out of another door, mostly causing damage to himself, but it seemed to help. The boiling rage gradually cooled, and Micky could almost think clearly. Clearly enough to know that he should go back into Ian and apologise. He didn’t exactly know what he’d apologise for, but he knew it wasn’t right to have Ian so angry at him. He wouldn’t have said such wounding words if he didn’t have a just cause.

Mickey knew the look that had been in Ian’s eyes: he was in pain. And Mickey was no fuckin’ knight in shining armour, but he knew he had to do something, at least try once more to help Ian.

So, with a as-close-to-zen mind as Mickey could get in this fuck-hole of a house, he went back into the bedroom.

Ian wasn’t in there. Not in the corner, not on the bed- Mickey even checked behind the door, in case Ian was hiding. Blowing air out of his mouth, Mickey flopped onto the bed, stumped. Ian definitely hadn’t left the room while Mickey had been outside. Where the fuck was he?

Just then, he got a prickling feeling along the exposed skin of his ankle, where his jeans had bunched up. His ankle was dangling by the foot of the bed. Withdrawing it reflexively, Mickey held his breath. Ian was under the bed?

Now with all his limbs on the soft mattress, Mickey leaned over the edge slightly. The space under the bed was hidden by yellowing-white lace trim. It was moving slightly in the draft. For some reason, Mickey had stopped breathing. He had to get a hold of himself- he was allowing himself to get caught up in the creepiness of the house again.

“Gallagher, are you under here?” Mickey questioned the room, and anybody inside it. Of course there was no fucking answer.

Slowly, painstakingly, Mickey leaned over the edge again, biting his lip and clenching his fists.

He dragged the lace away in one swift movement. Nothing happened, so he took this as a good sign. He was still cautious when he hung his head over the edge though.

His eyes scanned the dark space under the bed. The expected images of rats and skeletons and who knows what else didn’t appear. He couldn’t see anything under the bed. He’d gotten himself worked up over nothing. If he could say ‘I told you so’ to himself, he would.

Except, there was of course the fact that it was so dark under the bed, something could still be hiding under there, just a bit smaller than a child…

“Mickey.”

Mickey jumped so much he almost toppled off the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading so far, and have a spooooooooky christmas ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is almost dub-con in this chapter, not really enough to tag the whole fic as dub-con, so if you don't want to read that, you may skip to the asterisks and just know that creepy shit occurs.
> 
> Also I'm so sorry this has taken a while to publish, but my exams will be over next week and I will have more time to write! (she says, ha)

“Sup?” Ian asked casually. Mickey did a double take at him. He was wearing one of his club outfits: black leggings, tank top and glittering eyeliner.

“What the fuck?” was all Mickey could manage, sitting back on the bed to steady himself.

“What, this?” Ian smiled, gesturing to his outfit, “I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t like it, you look like a fucking- no, wait. Aren’t you angry anymore?” Mickey asked warily.

“Hm?” Ian tilted his head absently. “Oh that, yeah, no, l’m fine.”

“But, what was it about? Why did you..?” Mickey left the question unfinished, as he couldn’t really describe what Ian had done apart from have a weird melt down. Ian was advancing on him with hooded eyes as he spoke, Mickey automatically backing more into the bed stead.

“It’s nothing, lets forget about it,” Ian smiled still, reaching the bed and crawling onto it. He reached Mickey’s small form at the head of the bed and pinned his arms up to kiss him.

“Ow, stop,” Mickey yelped, Ian’s hand squeezing the wrist that he’d bashed against the wall earlier

“Aw, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Ian simpered, taking Mickey’s arm and licking down it seductively. Mickey didn’t know whether he liked it or not. But Ian was looking at Mickey so dirtily, and his tongue and lips were all over his skin, he couldn’t help getting turned on again. After all, they had never finished what they started earlier. This made it a little easier to let the previous fight go. It was almost too easy to forget the wounding words Ian had spat at him not more than twenty minutes ago.

Mickey’s mind floated as Ian kissed up his arm, tongue tracing his veins wetly.

“Mickey! Help!”

It was Ian’s strangled cry but his mouth hadn’t moved: it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Mickey shot up, almost throwing Ian off of him.

“Ian?” Mickey called, disregarding the man at his side, who resorted to sucking Mickey’s shoulder and trying to get his shirt off.

When there was no reply, Mickey got up and ran to the door, which slammed shut in his face.

He turned around, and stumbled a bit. His head had got very fuzzy in the time it took him to get to the door.

“I’ve got to go help Ian,” he muttered to the Ian kneeling on the bed.

“But he’s right there,” Ian pointed out matter-of-factly. As he said this, another Ian walked in through the door, shutting it behind him and waltzing to the bed. This Ian was just in gold booty pants, and even more fucking eyeliner. Mickey swayed, gazing at the two identical gingers in front of him.

“But… he needs my help,” Mickey attempted.

“Yeah, I need your help to get my pants off, they’re so tight,” gold-bootied Ian practically moaned, turning round to give Mickey a good look at his ass. “Like it?”

“No,” Mickey huffed ineffectually, eyes focused on Ian’s shiny ass.

Ian raised his eyebrows doubtfully, then walked to Mickey to lead him to the bed, where leggings-Ian was waiting with a small bottle of lube. Mickey’s head felt so fuzzy, he just went along with it, forgetting why he shouldn’t be.

“Ever wanted to have a threesome?” one of the Ian’s asked smugly, positioning Mickey in between them with a careless action.

“No,” Mickey said unsurely, and bleary eyed. He belatedly realised he was laid, ass in the air to one Ian, and head by other Ian’s crotch.

“That’s ‘cause he only has eyes for us,” one Ian said to the other.

Other Ian smirked. Mickey tried to focus his eyes on him. The smirk looked mean. Why did Ian look so mean?

“Oh, yeah. Well then, it must be a dream come true to have a threesome with both of us. Isn’t that right Mickey?” Ian  asked, grasping Mickey’s shoulder.

“Yes?” he answered unsurely. He felt his pants being undone then. He looked up at Ian. His face was smiling down at him, but Mickey’s eyes were drawn to his chest. There was a red mark… no wait. There was a big red hole. Mickey drew back, as best as he could when boxed in by horny cadets.

“What?” Gold-bootied Ian asked confidently to Mickey, who could only stare. A chunk of Ian’s chest was missing, blood and bone and organs framing the wall from the other side of Ian.

“The fuck? Get the fuck off me,” Mickey demanded, still feeling fuzzy, but managing to get up. A quick look at the other Ian confirmed he was surrounded by hallucinations, or monsters or whatever. He had no face.

Wordlessly, Mickey staggered to the door. He didn’t know why, but this time it didn’t slam shut before him, and he made it into the hallway. As soon as he was in the cool albeit musty air of the rest of the house, his head started to clear. This didn’t help him figure out what had just happened though.

Mickey needed to find the real Ian. He called his name out a couple of times hoarsely, hoping that the creepy Ian-sluts wouldn’t come back out.

“Down here!” came a wavering voice. Mickey dashed down the stairs. This needed to be the real Ian or he’d go crazy.

*-*-*

Ian was sat in a high-ceilinged room, chained to an armchair. Chained. Mickey skidded into the room, and looked disbelievingly at Ian.

“What the fuck is going on man?” Mickey asked, not taking his eyes off the chains. Seriously? Chains?

“How the fuck should I know!?” Ian shouted exasperatedly. “You just freaking chained me to this chair and ran off, like what the fuck? Where the hell did you get chains from?”

“I- That wasn’t me, that was-”

Ian interrupted Mickey. “This isn’t fucking funny Mickey. If this is a prank, I swear to Jesus.”

“No, really,” Mickey insisted. “There are these ghost things, I dunno, but they look like us and they’re trying to trick us and we’ve gotta get outta here somehow,” the words tumbled out of Mickey’s mouth in a panic. Ian breathed in, considering what Mickey had said, and then started screaming.

“YOU’RE NOT FUCKING FUNNY MILKOVICH, PIECE OF SHIT WHEN I GET OUT OF THESE CHAINS I SWEAR I WILL STRANGLE YOU.”

“Calm the fuck down, I told you, I’m not the one who put you in chains. Where the fuck would I get chains from, huh?”

Ian shook his head, and laughed. He was shaking.

“So, what, it’s a ghost that did it? How did a ghost do it, ghosts are non-corporeal you fucking idiot.”

“I dunno! I’m not a fucking ghostbuster, all I know is-”

“Fucking IMMATURE,” Ian yelled again, struggling against the chains again. “Ever wonder why I fuck older men Mickey, hm? It’s because you’re so fucking immature.”

“Shut the fuck up, what are you doing?” Mickey asked.

“Oh, don’t you like hearing that? Don’t you like the idea of me sucking old-guy dick? Don’t like picturing me and a sixty year old going at it, hell maybe even a seventy year old,” Ian babbled, leaning as close as he could to Mickey while restrained.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey repeated quieter now, looking away from him. It wasn’t Ian. It wasn’t fucking Ian.

“But it’s so fucking passionate Mickey, so hot,” Ian groaned tauntingly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Again. Mickey’s breath started coming in shorter breaths. It wasn’t Ian, and he didn’t know where he was, or what he was going to do. He rounded on the Ian in the chair.

“You’re not worth anything Mickey, you’re good for nothing. You thought you’d come down to save me, huh? YOU CAN’T EVEN SAVE YOURSELF,” Ian ended on a yell, spit flecking onto Mickey, who took the opportunity to kick blindly into Ian’s chest.

Ian didn’t even react.

Mickey punches it hard in the face. He’d been pushed far enough. He punches him again and again, finally staggering back to admire his handy work. Black ooze was bleeding from Ian’s broken, grinning face, and Mickey felt too crazed on blood lust to even flinch at the sight of his boyfriend’s wounds. The sight of it hadn’t made him flinch, but the thought of him not flinching sobered Mickey slightly. He couldn’t think though. No time. He stormed out to the sound of Ian’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eternal thanks to all for the kudos and comments x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry I accidentally posted this chapter before it was ready the other day oops >.

Ian had woken up in complete darkness. He had a hunch he was in the rat room, because he thought he recognised this particular stench of mustiness. And also there was the fact that rats kept scurrying over his limbs.  He couldn’t move, but he wasn’t numb unfortunately. He couldn’t do much apart from lay there and listen- every few minutes or maybe it was every few hours- time was going weird on him- he could hear Mickey yelling. It killed him. He didn’t have a clue what could be happening up there, whether Mickey was in trouble or just freaked out by Ian’s disappearance, but every time he tried to move, or even just shout, he froze up.

That was, until the door slammed open, shedding some flickering light on him. Along with the light, came Ian’s ability to move, and he hurriedly stood up, only staggering slightly. Relief flooded him when he saw it was Mickey, and he went to greet him but then stopped. Mickey’s arm was shaking where he was holding the candle, and his eyes were red, his face rough.

“Mickey?” Ian asked cautiously.

“Sup,” Mickey muttered, looking away before suddenly lunging forward to take a swing at Ian. Before his fist hit its target though, Mickey pulled back laughing. Ian barely had time to react before Mickey went to punch him a second time, this time for real, winding him and sending him to the floor.

“How’d you like that, faggot!?”

“What?” Ian choked disbelievingly, squinting up at Mickey’s furious face, “Are you high?”

Mickey kicked him in the stomach. “I’m not a fucking queen. Hear that?”

Ian spat blood onto the floor before Mickey kicked him again, this time in the shoulder.

“I’m not a bent, batty boy, bum bandit,” he alliterated before aiming a kick at his Ian’s head.

Ian uselessly raised his arms to protect himself, but before Mickey’s foot connected with his skull, he stopped. Ian flinched when Mickey fell to the floor next to him, dropping his hands to his head. He didn’t know how to react, so he just stayed there, breathing heavily until Mickey started to mumble into his hands.

“I can’t save you, I can’t look after you, I can’t even protect my own sister. I can’t stick up for myself, how am I supposed to be able to help you?”

Ian hesitated for a few seconds, deciding what course of action to take. It was weird as fuck hearing Mickey talk so plainly about his feelings, but it made Ian’s voice catch in his throat at the same time. He had to try comfort him. Anyway, he reckoned if he did anything else he might get another beating. Not that he was scared of Mickey… just confused.

So, “Hey, Mick, look at me. You don’t need to look after me, we can both-”

Mickey interrupted Ian by standing up abruptly.

“I do have to look after you, ‘cause you’re a fucking mental case.”

Low blow. “I’m not, I’ve been fine for the past few months,” Ian mumbled.

“Y’know, you’re gonna end up killing yourself sooner or later anyway. In fact, why make you do it? If I was a good boyfriend, I’d save you the trouble and do it myself.”

“Fucking hell, you’re not Mickey,” Ian blurted out, before he actually realised what he’d said. He wasn’t Mickey. Mickey wouldn’t beat him to the floor then threaten to kill him. Ian was 90% sure he wouldn’t. Maybe a couple years back, beating him wouldn’t have been such a far stretch, and yeah Terry Milkovich would probably be happy to beat him and kill him if he knew what he was doing to his son on a regular basis, but Mickey? now? Nah. Even if he was high. Judging by the weird shit that had happened already in this house, the Mickey growling at him right now was probably a vampire or a ghost or some shit. Holy shit Mickey was growling at him.

“I know you’re not Mickey, so whatever you are, fuck off,” Ian asserted. It was difficult to be confident though when your boyfriend appeared to be breaking down in front of you. Even if Ian could swear that it wasn’t the real Mickey… these things messed with your mind.

“You want me to leave?” Mickey-ghost-thing asked quietly. At least he’d stopped growling.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright Ian.” He said it so softly. Then took out his gun and shot himself in the face.

“No, Mickey!” Ian cried, unable to take his eyes off of the body crumpling to the floor. “No. I’m sorry. Why did you bring your fucking gun for fucks sake, Mickey.” Ian got angry instead of sad. “You’re a fucking idiot bringing a gun here, we were just meant to be house sitting!” He aimed a furious glare at the corpse and then rose to his feet, picking up the gun. It was definitely Mickey’s, no ghost-hallucination trick there. He balanced the weight of the gun in his hand. The metal felt warm.

“You’re a cunt,” Ian told the ghost corpse, cocking the trigger and aiming. He shut one eye and stuck his tongue out considering it.

But slowly the corpse was melting anyway.

“You can’t fool me, I know Mickey, and I’m gonna find him,” he said to the black puddle of ooze that was forming. Rats were gathering round it like it was a Burger King. “You’ve had me locked in here for hours. Hours of fear. I’m gonna find Mickey, and I’m gonna kill you.”

So he saved the bullets and walked out, leaving Mickey’s half formed corpse in the room ron its own without so much as a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading so far! i will be posting the last chapter very soon :)


	7. Chapter 7

It only took Ian a few minutes to find a Mickey. He knew he would. During those few minutes of solitude, he felt his brain itching. He had to get out of here, he had to do something, he had something to do. His thoughts cluttered and shifted, probably the house’s ghost trying to confuse him, but Ian held onto his purpose. Ian was unrestrainable. Mickey was sat on the bottom step of the staircase in the hall, staring at the front door solemnly. A quick glance told Ian that it was nearing dawn.

As soon as Mickey saw Ian, he leapt up, countenance first displaying relief and then shock as he noticed what Ian was holding.

“Ay, what the fuck you doing with my gun?” Mickey asked, hand automatically going to the back of his jeans. His gun wasn’t there.

“Are you Mickey?” Ian asked aggresively and sniffed. He must’ve looked half crazed. He definitely felt half crazed.

“Are you Ian?” Mickey asked straight back.

“You’re not Mickey.” Ian raised the gun.

“I am Mickey, fucking hell, put the gun down Gallagher.” Mickey was attempting to keep a neutral face but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. When Ian didn’t move, he sighed shakily. “Look, a lot of weird shit’s been going down tonight, but I’ve watched enough horror movies to know a way to survive this.”

“I think I’ve figured out a way too,” Ian said clearly and coldly, still aiming the gun. Mickey was looking more and more uncomfortable. “What was the last horror movie we watched together, Mick?”

“Is this a fucking test? I fucking told you I’m the real Mickey.”

Ian waved the gun, prompting Mickey to put his hands up.

“Fuck, um, it was that shitty 80s one. The one with the headless dude. Re-animator,” Mickey struggled.

“Hm.”

“Um… anyway, I figure we should just wait it out till dawn. It should all stop when the sun comes up.”

“Oh really?”

“I don’t fucking know Ian! It’s worth a shot. Come on, just sit and wait, put the gun down jesus you’re scaring me,” Mickey blurted.

“No. Waiting till dawn won’t work. I have to kill the ghost or the spirit or whatever’s doing this. Only then can this end.”

Just as Ian finished saying this to an evermore freaked out Mickey, another Mickey skipped into the room. Ian spun the gun on him, while twisting his head round to keep an eye on Mickey on the stairs.

“Ay what the fuck, Gallagher?” the new-Mickey said, backing away immediately.

“Shut up, stand over there,” Ian commanded, getting Mickey to stand next to Mickey. It was quite disturbing seeing them stood together. They had exactly the same mannerisms, and each of them were scowling at the other. One flexed his knuckles, the other rolled his shoulders. As if Ian was going to let them fight: it would mess with his head too bad and probably all hell would break loose. Possibly literally, who knew how powerful this thing was?  “One of you is the ghost,” Ian addressed the Mickeys, “and I’m going to shoot you so that you can never harm anyone again.” Ian spoke as if he was on a mission from God.

“You can’t fucking shoot a ghost, they’re non-fucking-corporeal,” one Mickey said.

Ian laughed. “Don’t you see, Mickey? It’s scared. It’s trying to confuse me even more now. It knows I can kill it. The gun will work, trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you’re pointing my own fucking gun at me?” the other Mickey said. This earned him a glower from the other Mickey.

Ian cocked the trigger.

“Ay, hold up, can’t we at least test out my dawn theory before you go and fucking shoot me, the real me in the face by accident?”

“No. You’re the ghost,” Ian said, turning the gun on this Mickey once more.

“Yes he’s the fucking ghost, shoot it quick,” the other Mickey ordered.

“Oh, come on, really?” Mickey interrupted Mickey.

“Please Ian.”

“Seriously, Gallagher.”

“Come the fuck on. How can you not know it’s me?”

Ian was turning his gun from one Mickey to the other like a nightmarish pendulum.

“Ian, I’m yours. And you know what? You’re fucking mine, so just-”

He was cut short by the ear-ringing sound of a bullet being fired. Ian had shot him mid-sentence. He knew Mickey would never say such romantic shit to him. However, Ian’s hands had been shaking so hard that he’d missed, and shot the Mickey in the leg accidentally.

“You fucking shot me, what the fuck!?” the wounded Mickey cried out in pain.

“Oh shit,” Ian muttered as he saw red blood pouring out of the wound. “Oh, shit.”

He quickly turned the gun on the other, smirking Mickey and this time managed to shoot him in the chest as he was standing up. He sank to his knees, black oozing out of the hole. His face began to crumble as the first rays of sun hit it.

“Well fucking done.” And with that, the ghost crumbled to the ground.

After staring at the dusty remains for a few seconds, Ian stumbled over to Mickey.

“Shit Mickey, I’m so sorry, we need to get you out of here, fuck,” he fretted, hands all over the place, and mind finally clear again. He could barely believe he’d just shot his boy friend. Mickey managed a smile though, despite being as white as a sheet and in a lot of pain.

“Remind me to never be nice to you again.”

  
  


*-*-*

  
  


The old man that had given Ian the keys in the first place had returned to the shop, a few days afterwards just as he’d said. Ian gave him a stony glare as he counted out the money.

“Thanks. You did a good job,” the man wheezed without a smile. “You should become a professional house-sitter. The house seems even better than I remember, and Socks has finally stopped hiding in the loft. I don’t know how you did it kid, but well done.”

He shuffled out the shop, Ian- and now Mickey who had limped over on his homemade crutches to eavesdrop- staring disbelievingly at his back.

“Is he just fucking crazy or..?” Mickey asked.

“Or a powerful summoner of evil spirits who lures teenagers to his haunted house and hopes for murder-suicides?” Ian suggested.

“Pfft,” Mickey scoffed. “You watch too many horror movies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks soooo much for reading this and i hope you enjoyed it :))


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